


my quiet heart

by parrishsrubberplant (genus_species)



Category: Fence (Comics)
Genre: Family Feels, M/M, Team as Family, and they were ROOMMATES
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-28
Updated: 2018-12-28
Packaged: 2019-09-29 06:54:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17198666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/genus_species/pseuds/parrishsrubberplant
Summary: Everywhere except the salle, Seiji is invisible.





	my quiet heart

**Author's Note:**

  * For [physicalmachinist](https://archiveofourown.org/users/physicalmachinist/gifts).



“I hear you like to give critique after matches,” Harvard says.

Seiji supposes this is why he’s captain. Harvard is well-liked, and he’s the only other nationally-ranked fencer at Kings Row. He’s got that quality that Seiji has never had. His mom calls it his resting grumpy face. Harvard has sociability. Ease. He doesn’t take losses personally. Nothing seems to rattle him.

People like Harvard, even though he’s talented. His teammates like him. His teachers like him. Even Coach Williams, who never smiles at anybody, smiles at Harvard.

People dislike Seiji, even though he’s more talented. His teammates actively avoid him. Not that he cares, but “You don’t belong here” was a pretty clear statement of how they felt. His teachers don’t notice him. Everywhere except the salle, Seiji is invisible.

His sweat is itchy on the back of his neck. He keeps his face impassive. “You still have the same problems in your low lines that you had at Nationals,” Seiji says. “You won’t get anywhere until you fix them.”

Harvard’s hand is large and warm. “I’ll work on that,” he says. “Thank you.” He pumps Seiji’s hand briefly. It feels more like a hug than a handshake, but maybe Seiji is just imagining things.

Seiji turns away. He doesn’t miss the expression on Harvard’s face before he goes, like he wants to say something else.

How are they all so easy with each other? Even Nicholas had friends right away, and he’s the most annoying person in the whole entire school.

_You could have friends._

_Or you could take back your title from Jesse. You choose._

He knows which he would rather do. Losing is still a sharp ache inside of him, a shameful memory. He tests himself again--the memory of Jesse’s face, of the final scoreboard, of his father turning away--it still stings.

_What about Aiden? You lost to him._ Seiji frowns. 

_Everyone has bad days._

He pushes open the door to the bathroom and steps inside. The stall doors are all slightly ajar--there’s no one else in here. Good. He continues the argument with himself. _You allowed him to distract you._

He goes into the bathroom stall, pisses, flushes, and goes out to wash his hands. There’s someone else in the bathroom now, he can see their feet under the door. Smallish feet, sparkly laces--Rodriguez. A sniff. 

_Is he crying?_ wars with _I do not have time for this._ Seiji sticks his hands under the dryer. He turns them over, letting the warm air press down on his palms. His hands always feel cold after he takes off the gloves. The toilet flushes and the lock rattles. Seiji steps away from the sink.

“Hi,” Bobby says. His smile is wide and friendly.

Seiji is silent for a moment too long. Bobby’s smile falters. “Hey,” Seiji says. Too quietly. “Hey,” he repeats, louder. Bobby lathers his hands with soap.

“So how is this school different from your old one?” Bobby asks. “You and Nicholas are both new this year. When I asked Nicholas, he said it’s much stricter here. At his old school, they didn’t even have uniforms! And no fencing, of course.”

“Hmm,” Seiji says.

“But surely he’s told you all that,” Bobby says. “I mean, you’re roommates!” Seiji trusts his face not to betray him. _Have...a conversation...with Zero. I’d rather run eight kilometers in the rain._ “So what was it like, your old school?” Bobby uses paper towel to dry his hands.

Seiji would suspect some type of psychological trickery. He’s fenced with people who tried that--fake friendliness, a front for finding weaknesses to exploit later. Except Bobby is about as conniving as a cupcake, and even less of a threat. “I didn’t go to school before Kings Row,” Seiji says. “I started home instruction midway through primary school.” He pulls the door open and holds it for Bobby to walk through.

Bobby grins. “Oh! Because of fencing?”

Seiji nods. The door swings closed softly behind them.

“No wonder you’re so bored in maths, then,” Bobby says. “My friend Anjelica is homeschooled. She’s learning precalculus right now, and going at twice the rate we are.” 

“I don’t mind,” Seiji says.

Bobby looks at him sharply, then smiles again. “I’m going this way,” he says. “I have to grab my stuff. See you!”

_Wow, you successfully held a conversation,_ Seiji tells himself. _You’ll be making friends next!_ He bites the inside of his cheek. _I don’t need friends._

But Bobby’s smile lingers, hanging in the air with him like the Cheshire Cat’s grin.

He could have guessed that Nicholas went to public school. Something about the way he carries himself. He’s both more alert than the bulk of the Kings Row boys, and somehow slouchier. He shouldn’t slump. It’s bad for his back and will cause him to have muscular problems later in life.

“Mr. Katayama?” his history teacher says.

Seiji straightens. Cold-calling is the only way his teachers are going to get him to speak in class. He has decided. Under the radar everywhere except the salle. Under the radar and he’ll make it through alive.

He answers the question.

“Speak up,” says Mr. Quentin. He gestures with his hands. “I can’t hear you.”

Seiji repeats his answer, speaking only slightly louder, but more precisely than before. Mr. Quentin nods and repeats his answer.

Seiji looks down at his notebook.

Mr. Quentin moves the class on, until they’re all reading and marking the primary source text independently. He stops by Seiji’s desk. “You have good thoughts,” he says, low but clear. “You should speak up so people can hear them.”

Seiji nods without looking up. He can’t possible tell Mr. Quentin what he’s thinking, which is that he doesn’t want to draw any more attention to himself than necessary. Even this amount of notice from a teacher makes his ears burn. He surreptitiously checks the room to see if anyone else has noticed Quentin singling him out.

Nicholas’s head is bend over his work. His unruly hair flops over his face. Some days he gels it, so the undercut shows. Some days he forgets the gel and leaves it out. Today it’s loose and Seiji can barely see the hint of the shaved sides. He thinks it would probably feeling soft and fuzzy like cat fur under his fingers.

He snaps his attention back to his work.

Later in the evening, after practice, he turns on his laptop. He intends to work on the history paper that’s due next week but detours first to his email, just to check it. He doesn’t expect to hear from his parents--they email on the odd weeks of the month, call at the evens, and an email from them tonight would be a break in the pattern.

He doesn’t expect the email from Coach Dmytro, but those are less predictable.

Seji,

How goes the training and diet plan we discussed?

The younger students are more rebellious without you here. Yesterday, before warmups, they organized a brief dance party. I’m still sweeping up glitter.

Be well,

D.

It’s...everything he expects from Dmytro--brief, to the point, and an unexpected stab through the heart. “Without you here”--Seiji misses the feeling of _team._ Sure, there were people at his old studio who disliked him, or resented his talent. But the space he had there was his own. No one told him he was taking the place of someone else.

“You don’t belong here” still echoes in his head.

_They’re freshmen. You belong here as much as they do._

Seiji adjusts his pillow behind him so it better supports his lower back. He works on the outline for a quarter of an hour, mulling over his reply to Coach’s email in the back of his head. Part of him wants to write back right away: _I made a mistake. Please take me back._ Part of him wants to wait. Coach Williams is...she gets him, in a way even Dmytro didn’t. He remembers losing the match to Aiden and the way Coach Williams kept everyone out of the bathroom so no one could bother him, so no one would rub it in. He types another bullet point on his outline. This demonstrates that...but what does it demonstrate? He doesn’t know. They went over one article in class, but are they expected to find more articles to write this paper?

He makes a note in his day planner to stay behind after class, or arrive early, and ask Mr. Quentin. He feels like it’s the kind of question the others would make fun of him for asking.

_Not Nicholas._

The door bangs open. 

Nicholas smells like sweat and cold air. It’s amazing and disgusting at the same time. He strips off his shirt and hurls it into his laundry basket. “Hi,” he mutters.

Seiji stares hard at his computer screen.

Nicholas’s abdomen is well-defined but he has a slight curve to his lower belly that keeps him from being lean. A trail of hair leads up from the waistband of his running shorts.

When Nicholas disappears into the bathroom, Seiji scrubs his hands over his burning face.

Nicholas comes out of the shower wearing boxers, and throws on a soft black t-shirt.

“Do you know if we’re supposed to do extra research for the history paper?” Seiji blurts.

Nicholas scrubs his hand through his hair. “What history--oh, the one next week. Um, I don’t know.” He looks guilty. “Shit, I thought we had one due tomorrow, or something.”

“No, that’s the precalculus test,” Seiji says.

“I’m in algebra,” Nicholas says, and sits down at his desk chair. His back is to Seiji but he turns his head to continue the conversation. “I’m not smart at maths.”

Seiji shrugs.

The corner of Nicholas’s mouth curls up. “Let me guess--no excuses, work hard, and you can be good at maths?”

It wasn’t what Seiji was about to say at all. What he was going to say was that Nicholas’s shitty previous school probably didn’t teach him the foundational skills he needed. But that kind of comment sounds...critical.

Seiji switches over from his outline to the email.

_It’s going well. The diet in particular--I feel like I have more energy. I’ve made a few adjustments to the morning warm up routine as follows…_

_The dance party sounds fun. Say hi to everyone for me._

_~Seiji_

He hits ‘send’ before he can second-guess himself.

He’s nearly finished with his outline when Nicholas’s phone begins to buzz against the desk.

“Hello?” Nicholas’s face goes still. “Yes, hi. No, now is a good time.” Nicholas lowers his shoulder, curling his whole body into the phone. “How are you?”

Seiji reaches over to his bedside table, pulls out his headphones, and puts them over his ears. He’ll just take a break right now, watch a few Olympic foil bouts on YouTube. He turns the volume up, trying to give Nicholas the illusion of privacy.

It isn’t a long conversation.

“Your parents didn’t come to tryouts,” Nicholas says, setting his phone down.

“They didn’t,” Seiji agrees.

“My mom didn’t come,” Nicholas says.

Seiji had...noticed that, actually. Not only that Nicholas’s mother wasn’t there, but that he didn’t even look for her. Seiji’s learned not to look for his own parents either. His father, for one, stopped coming around the time Seiji started working with Coach Dmytro. His mother--well, she’s too busy. She has other things to worry about. This is one of those situations where Seiji knows he should say something but he can’t think of what. Should he apologize? It’s not his fault and he doesn’t know what Nicholas’s situation is anyway. 

Other than scholarship kid. He’s got nothing outside his uniform clothes, his gear, and his ubiquitous black t-shirts.

“Sucks,” Nicholas says, and pulls his notebook towards him and opens it. Seiji lets out a tiny sigh of relief. He hopes Nicholas will stop trying to talk to him soon.

It’s been almost a month of rooming together, almost two weeks since the end of fencing team tryouts. It seems like Nicholas has this bizarre idea that they are friends.

Seiji shuts his laptop. “I’m going to shower.”

Nicholas looks up. “Go ahead.”

When Seiji gets into their bathroom, the smell of sweaty running clothes overwhelms him. Nicholas’s t-shirt and shorts are draped over the curtain rod and his underwear hangs off the edge of the sink. 

Seiji pushes the clothing aside and resists the urge to wash his hands. He turns the water to his preferred temperature, strips, and climbs into the shower. Before he works the soap into a lather, he brings his fingers to his nose and sniffs. He can smell Nicholas on his fingers.

He showers quickly, and realizes only after he steps out that he forgot to bring his pajamas with him. He wraps himself in a towel.

The rubber ducky curtain is half-open. Seiji pulls it over so it blocks his side of the room entirely and changes into his pajamas. The cotton is worn soft by repeated washings, the original blue greyed out.

He climbs into bed, positions his eye mask over his eyes, and sleeps.

There’s no reply to his email the next morning. When he gets back from breakfast, picking up his books for the morning’s classes, there is a voicemail on his phone.

“Seiji-kun!” So it’s his mother’s turn to make the weekly parent outreach. “You have not told us how your tryouts went. We are thinking of you.”

Seiji replays it, but that’s the entirety of the message. _You have not told us how your tryouts went._ He sighs. _How did you think they were going to go?_ wars in his head with, _You didn’t ask._ And ‘we are thinking of you’--that means only she is. His father has more important things to do than think of Seiji. 

He thinks of Harvard’s parents, with their open pride. Eugene’s parents, arms overlapping as they both hug their son without taking turns. A sick feeling has begun to lodge itself in the pit of his stomach.

Now that he thinks of it, the only other person who had no one...was Nicholas.

He calls his mother back before lunch. The sick feeling hasn’t gotten much better. He takes his green smoothie and searches for a private place. 

One of the group work rooms in the library is unoccupied. He flips on the lights and pulls down the shades. He distantly notes that his hand is shaking as he navigates to Recent Calls and taps his mom’s name.

The phone rings.

“Good afternoon. You have reached the voicemail of Dr. Mari Katayama. If this is a medical emergency please hang up and dial 000 now.” He stops listening as the message goes through the various extensions and phone numbers to reach Dr. Katayama’s secretary at the hospital and her secretary at the clinic. It’s a Wednesday; he members that’s a hospital day, unless she’s changed her schedule.

_Beep._

“Good morning,” Seiji says. “I am following Coach Dmytro’s diet and training plan. Tryouts have ended and I made the team.” He hesitates. “Talk to you soon.” The voicemail system makes him re-listen to his message and asks him if he wants to re-record it. Seiji sends the message and ends the call.

Practice focuses his mind wonderfully, especially since some of Coach Williams’s drills are different from Coach Dmytro’s, and he has to concentrate so he doesn’t make a mistake. He notices that Nicholas makes a lot of mistakes.

Each time, he wrinkles his nose, tosses his head to flip his ridiculous hair out of his eyes, and tries again. 

Coach isn’t easy on Nicholas just because he was the surprise winner for alternate. In fact, she’s almost brutal to him. He can’t do anything right. But Nicholas doesn’t lose his temper. He stays calm and focused and corrects himself as best he can. At the very end, Coach gives him a tight nod. “Good effort.”

Nicholas ducks his head, but even through the ridiculous hair Seiji can see the color creep across his cheeks.

Seiji lingers in the showers. He dries his wet hair and wraps the towel around his waist. There’s almost no one left in the locker room.Harvard’s sitting on a bench half-dressed, scrolling through his phone.

“Hey,” Seiji says. It would be rude not to say anything.

Harvard looks up, clearly startled. “I thought Aiden was the last one here.”

Seiji lifts one shoulder in a shrug. “I didn’t see him in the showers.”

Harvard’s lips twist slightly. 

Seiji shrugs, pulling out his phone to check it. Harvard and Aiden should just talk to each other, except that Aiden’s allergic to monogamy and Harvard’s allergic to conflict. He wonders what it would be like to have a friend like that, someone who has known him since they were both children. Jesse Cox could have been like that. Seiji still remembers the blond, blue-eyed boy, his hand outstretched. “I hope we have a great match.” And his father, cold and cutting: “Seiji only fences with older boys.”

And Jesse’s at Exton now, and Seiji’s at Kings Row, and his mom left him another voicemail. That’s odd.

“See you,” he says to Harvard.

Harvard hasn’t put on a shirt. It may be deliberate or he may be attempting to torment Aiden. Will they ever get their shit together?

He listens to the voicemail as he walks back to his dorm room. “Phone tag again!” She sounds cheerful. Maybe work is finally getting less stressful. “Congratulations on your place on the team. We knew you would make it.” 

And that’s all. Seiji plays the message back again. Nothing about how she’s doing, and no greeting from his father.

_You should be happy with this much._

Nicholas is lounging on his bed, earbuds in his ears, writing in a journal. A snippet of song plays in Seiji’s head: “never trust a man who doesn’t drink. And he keeps a journal!” He looks up as Seiji closes the door.

“Coach tells me so many things,” Nicholas says. He sounds apologetic. “I’m trying to remember more of them.”

Not a journal. Or: a fencing journal. Seiji doesn’t think much of the idea. His fluency is born partly of muscle memory. Do a thing a thousand times and suddenly it’s easy.

“What did your parents say when you made the team?” he asks.

Nicholas marks his place in the notebook with his pen. “Not much.” He looks guarded, his shutting the way his notebook did.

“Did they say they were proud?” Seiji presses.

Nicholas looks away. “I can stay here,” he says. Seiji tilts his head. “I’m on a scholarship,” Nicholas says. “If I’m not fencing, I can’t afford to be here. I saved for two and half years to get here--I--” he breaks off.

“And your dad?”

“I don’t know him,” Nicholas says. “I mean, there’s a name on my birth certificate, and I know who he is, but we’ve never been introduced.”  
“Who is he?”

“Robert Cox,” Nicholas says.

It explains why Nicholas fences like Jesse. “Your half-brother beat me,” Seiji says. “Is that an indirect win too?” He doesn’t expect an answer, and he doesn’t get one. He feels like he understands more about Nicholas Cox than he did before.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from "Invisible" by Skylar Grey.
> 
> Happy holidays!


End file.
